


the answer isn't for us

by popocco



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Alcohol, Casual Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Foreshadowing, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mention of Death and Violence, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popocco/pseuds/popocco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set during mitsunari and ieyasu's time as generals in hideyoshi's army. after another long day of campaigning (and a little bit to drink), ieyasu pays mitsunari a social call. he unwittingly pushes his luck a number of times, but in the end it works out rather well for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the answer isn't for us

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAND DONE. lmjs i will think a little more carefully the next time i decide, oh, 12 illustrations isn't too many. jesus christ. it occurs to me now that im done that there are a LOT of little inaccuracies, but this is what happens when u try using a small blurry wikipedia pic as a reference image instead of the game booklet oTZ oTZ oTZ oTZ oTZ
> 
> title is from feist's "so sorry", which is my official Good End song for these 2

It’s long past sundown, and the main encampment has quieted in the hours since the day’s march ended. With the evening meal finished, the men are tending to their wounds and armaments, conversing softly amongst themselves, or already asleep. Only faint occasional voices reach Ieyasu through the trees as he distances himself from the army, past the supplies and stabled horses, up and around the lightly forested slope overlooking the camp.

The campfires are mostly on their ways out now, and what sky is visible through the branches is overcast. Ah, the clouds are moving a bit quick, though... The men turning in below deserve a quiet, dry night’s rest after what they’ve been through to get here.

Ieyasu sighs, expelling some of the warmth from his chest, though a comfortable flush still softens the night breeze on his cheeks. The decanter in his hand has the rough liquid movements inside of something closer to empty than full. Maybe he was a little too acquiescing earlier, haha.

The trees start to thin some more nearing the peak of the hill, and with the dwindling campsite glow it’s a little difficult to make out, but unquestionably stood there and clearly well aware of Ieyasu’s approach is an angular, tense silhouette.

“What.” Mitsunari’s hand leaves the hilt of his odachi, and his posture relaxes minimally from wariness into irritation when Ieyasu is near enough to be distinguishable from the dark scenery.

It’s a negligible change in demeanor, probably only made noteworthy by the shochu tingling up into his face, but it still strikes Ieyasu as charming and kindles the beginning of a smile at the edges of his mouth. Thankfully he’s not close enough yet for Mitsunari to notice.

“Just enjoying the evening.” Ieyasu raises his hand in greeting. The freer of the two, the hand with a pair of small sake cups in it.

He can practically feel Mitsunari narrow his eyes at that, almost see it too now that his own are adjusting to the dark. Mitsunari’s shoulders slump out of their rigor and he turns his back, sits, resumes tending to the metal arm-guard Ieyasu can make out in his grasp.

“Enjoy it somewhere else.”

Ahh, it’s no good, Ieyasu can’t help but fondly laugh a little at that, and it couldn’t be further from belittling but he tries his best to shelve it quickly knowing that that’s certainly how Mitsunari would interpret it.

“Come on now, I’m just here for the peace and quiet. I won’t be a bother.” Ieyasu approaches a few more steps and stops, tentative. Near enough to see Mitsunari turn his face just slightly, see his brow harden in consideration at a proposal he seems to ultimately decide is too benign to take exception to.

“ ...... Suit yourself.”

And as if this concession has resolved the matter of Ieyasu’s presence entirely, he resumes buffing the nicks and scratches on the piece of armor in his hand, wiping off dust and dirt and other lingering traces of battle.

Ieyasu sits cross-legged on the ground where he is, sets the decanter and cups a small ways back and off to the side. Braces his palms on the dirt behind him, leans back, lets the wind cool his face some more.

Near where Mitsunari sits there are the remnants of a small fire, and a ways back from that, a roll of bedding still trussed up into a compact bundle. This position on the hill overlooks where the foot soldiers’ things start to dwindle, leaving a respectable distance to where the generals have set up, then to Hideyoshi-kou’s personal camp.

A site removed from the noise, clamor and overall bother of the rank and file, protected against ambush, with a clear view of their commander’s location and a trifling distance to jump should assistance need be rendered. Earnest, single-minded, unsociable. Unbelievably Mitsunari.

Seated unmoving in the night chill for some time like this, listening to the little squeaks of a rag on metal, the warm slight giddiness ebbing through Ieyasu has already subsided considerably but a smile still comes to his face at how utterly characteristic this meager campsite is. Honestly, it has nothing to do with drink at all.

“What exactly is so amusing?”

Oh... He really was trying to be inconspicuous.

Mitsunari has finished the maintenance on his armor and put it back on. He’s staring directly at Ieyasu, with that look, the one with the near-tangible promise of fury depending on what kind of reply he gets. Ieyasu idly wonders how long Mitsunari has been looking at him, and with what kind of expression, before the current one hardened up his face like that.

“Nothing is _amusing_ , really,” he answers with perfect honesty. It’s a perfectly honest answer, but not a terribly convincing one, all things considered. “I’m just in a good mood.” Also the truth; also incredibly unconvincing.

Naturally, Mitsunari is not convinced. His tone is curt and unforgiving. “I refuse to acknowledge the possibility that Hideyoshi-sama would entrust his troops to a man miserably foolish enough to drink himself senseless and incomprehensible on the eve of battle. Explain yourself properly.”

“Ahahaha, I’m honored to be thought of so highly.” A messy feint, slow and full of openings. Not insincere, but painfully obvious for what it is. Ieyasu is forthright enough with his feelings, but having to explain them word for word will probably be tricky, and embarrassing. Though, it’s beginning to look unavoidable. Ah well.

The glare Mitsunari employs to meet this shoddy evasion could pierce through flesh and bone as surely as his blade, would certainly have any of the men down in camp weeping apologies and running for their lives. At the very least, it does make Ieyasu squirm in place a bit and give another quick laugh. Compulsive, nervous, just a meaningless preface to the incredibly ticklish words tripping over each other in his throat, but ohhhhhh how Mitsunari’s eyes just _darken_ when this is the response he gets, rather than whatever flimsy excuse (for something as unforgivable as simple mirth) he was expecting. Ohhh. This is getting a bit out of hand.

“Mitsunari, I really did just come to relax.”

“Then _shut up_. Keep your private jokes to yourself.” The volume of his voice is level, but it has that impossible to miss growling edge, which on the battlefield would mean a great number of foolish men were about to die painfully.

Ieyasu has seen Mitsunari with this look on the battlefield, and has seen many of those foolish deaths. The brave fools smile and laugh when they make their hopelessly futile charge. Off the battlefield, nobody ever smiles at Mitsunari, or laughs. Ieyasu could be dead four times over tonight alone.

“There are no private jokes! Truly.”

“Then what the hell is the reason for all your insipid grinning. Answer.”

Though perhaps a little less murderous, Mitsunari’s warning glare is still trained upon Ieyasu like a hunter’s arrow. Promising swift retribution in the case of, Ieyasu has realized, perceived mockery. This perception couldn’t be any further from the truth, but it does make sense. Nobody ever smiles at Mitsunari, after all.

“Like I said, I’m just glad.” They both know it’s not a complete explanation, and one that isn’t even true at all in its general meaning. Not on a night before more bloodshed and death.

“To be here,” Ieyasu offers, which is vague enough to make Mitsunari’s eyebrows meet.

“You’re a weak, sentimental fool.” Ahahahaha. “But to be grateful for your own survival is disgraceful, even for you.”

This second backhanded compliment of the night is wholly unexpected and draws another few delighted laughs from Ieyasu, but before Mitsunari can go for his blade, “In your company, right now, is ah, what I meant.”

Ahh, aaahhhhh, no matter how guileless Ieyasu’s reputation, the words stumble out awkwardly. He can’t quite bring himself to watch them register, looks down into the camp at a few more fires burning out.

 

Ieyasu treasures the silences that Mitsunari occasionally allows him to share, but this one is uneasy to begin with and stretches a bit too long for comfort. He half expects to meet the tip of a sword, but when he turns back towards Mitsunari he’s eye level with a pair of knees. On his feet, looking every bit as tense and guarded as when Ieyasu first saw him this evening, Mitsunari is squinting down at him with a face like the sun’s in his eyes.

“Mitsunari?”

“What does _that_ mean.”

......... Eh?

Ah, although, probably not a lot of people have told Mitsunari that they like being around him. Probably not any, actually. Considering Mitsunari’s usual reaction to unprecedented circumstances, it’s kind of amazing that Ieyasu isn’t staring up the cruel length of his odachi right now.

“Well, it means, ah.” Ieyasu is often told that he’s too straightforward, but the task of being any more upfront than he already has is giving him a lot of room for pause. Room enough for a small helpless chuckle, and the noticeable lack of hostility that meets it is only the more overwhelming.

“It means what it means? That I like your company.” It’s a little bit less embarrassing the second time.

 “So _what_ , what I’m asking is _why_!” As merciless as any of Mitsunari’s swordplay. Quick, fierce, straight for the vitals. He’s raising his voice now, it has that shrill, spitting kind of quality starting to come up from his throat into it. He’s taken an insistent step forward, but he obviously isn’t angry. Bothered, though?

“ ‘Why’... Why not. We’re friends, right?”

“ _What_?”

Ah. That was the wrong thing to say.

“I have never had a need for anything as pointless as _friendship_.” Mouth turned down around it in flagrant disgust, Mitsunari almost literally spits the word into the dirt and grinds it under his foot. “You insult me, retract it immediately!” He does literally spit a tiny bit, there.

Ieyasu is on his feet now too, stood up when he realised his presumption. Ushering Mitsunari back as inoffensively as he can, palms open in surrender. “You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry. I misspoke.” Smile-fights through his compulsive laugh, meets Mitsunari’s gaze. “Not friends, I’m sorry.”

Mitsunari seems to consider slitting Ieyasu’s throat for his insolence just a moment longer, but in the end he looks fairly appeased. ‘Hmph’s through his nose, turns his back. This is Ieyasu’s chance to leave, before Mitsunari changes his mind.

He contemplates for a second.

“Not friends, then...... Comrades?”

This time Mitsunari does go straight for his blade, has it fully drawn before he’s even half turned around again, but Ieyasu is ready to leap back out of the way of his swipe and ready to start explaining.

“Now now, wait, hear me out! I only mean, we’ve both fought countless battles together, haven’t we?” Murdered countless good men. Destroyed countless bonds. “In the same way, me and Hideyoshi-kou are even comera-“

“You would _dare_ debase Hideyoshi-sama to your level?! I’m going to cut that impertinent mouth right from your face, it will be the only thing anyone will recognize once I’m done-“

“Wait, wait, it’s not about being on the same level or not. We’ve just fought in the same wars, that’s all. Me, you, Hideyoshi-kou, all the men in the army. It doesn’t need to mean anything at all, or be important at all, but,” Mitsunari is still in a ready position to take Ieyasu’s head clean off his shoulders with a single quick movement, but he’s at least listening. “To some people it _is_ important, it’s a kind of bond. That’s what it is to me, at least. It’s part of what keeps me here fighting at Hideyoshi-kou’s side. You can appreciate that too, right?”

For a moment Mitsunari just stares with as unreadable an expression as Ieyasu has ever seen, still half-crouched in poise to make another swing of his blade, but something he said must have been satisfactory because soon enough Mitsunari straightens and slaps his odachi fully back into its scabbard.

“The only one capable of standing at Hideyoshi-sama’s _side_ is Hanbei-sama,” he corrects. “You should be lucky enough to see his back from a distance.”

“Yes, true enough,” Ieyasu laughs, and with that the tension in the air dissolves.

The valley is almost totally dark now and the first shift of night patrols is probably already out, but Ieyasu doesn’t quite have a mind to return yet. For his part, Mitsunari will probably be awake to survey the camp below till the morning’s early hours again. Ieyasu often rises to see him still holding his own stationary watch.

It’s a little worrisome, honestly. ‘Sleep is unnecessary vulnerability,’ is what Mitsunari would probably say if he brought it up, or something just as silly and extreme, and then something about how foolish it would be to entrust the camp’s security to lesser men. And experience has taught Ieyasu that openly displaying concern for Mitsunari’s well-being is among the easier ways of insulting him on a deep personal level. It’s impossible not to press the issue sometimes, but tonight his health doesn’t seem to be suffering particularly, and Ieyasu isn’t about to ruin a rare companionable moment with busy-bodying. Not this one, at least.

Watching Mitsunari watch the camp, Ieyasu suddenly remembers the reason he came here in the first place, and tries not to kick over the decanter he put down somewhere nearby feeling around for it with his foot. Manages to safely retrieve it and the two cups he brought. Holds one out towards Mitsunari, calls his name to bring attention to the offer.

Mitsunari glances down at the earthenware in Ieyasu’s hand, and comments a bit pompously, “I have never once seen the appeal of willfully dulling your own senses.”

Upon reflection, Ieyasu hasn’t seen Mitsunari drink out of ceremonial context even a single time. Though that isn’t too strange at all, considering his attitude towards leisure.

“One drink probably wouldn’t do that,” Ieyasu remarks. “Just make you feel warm, mostly.”

Mitsunari is glaring down at the tiny cup like it’s about to draw a weapon and challenge him to single combat, but oddly enough he hasn’t outright refused it yet. The wind has picked up considerably, and it’s enough to make Ieyasu himself shiver a little every so often, but Mitsunari would sooner fight an avalanche than admit to being bothered by the cold. That he’s even considering the offer makes his bravado fairly obvious though.

He grumbles something quick and harsh-sounding then, amazingly, grabs the sake cup from Ieyasu’s hand, making a point to stare somewhere else in a show of indifference while he holds it out to be filled.

Ieyasu gladly does just that, and empties the decanter into his own cup (he did come here to share, after all). But before he can even start to come up with something for them to drink to, Mitsunari has already thrown the wine down his throat without a second thought, and shoved the empty receptacle back from whence it came.

The rim of the cup bumps a bit roughly against Ieyasu’s knuckles (salved, bandaged, sensitive), interrupting his impressed laughter with a slight wince. He palms the dish and takes a sip from his own, enjoying the shochu heat his throat and stomach while he tries not to shy away too obviously from Mitsunari’s rapt new attention towards his injured hand.

“Why have you thrown down your spear.”

There’s a faint grimace on his face and his voice sounds a bit hoarse, and it would be easy to change the subject to either of those things, to risk Mitsunari’s anger through prodding at his low capacity for alcohol. Maybe even preferable. But his eyes are locked with Ieyasu’s, the clarity of them disarming even in the darkness, and it’s more than enough to defeat the notion of dodging his question.

Ieyasu sighs through his nose, smiles in defeat down at his bandages. “To test myself, I guess. The kind of strength I have with just my own two hands.” The kind of strength that can injure and kill a man just as effectively as any weapon, as Hideyoshi-kou has more than proven time and again, but with possibly a longer reach than any sword or pole arm or bow, even. A different kind of reach.

No matter how he worries for Mitsunari, always thoughtlessly pushing himself to meet Hideyoshi-kou’s examples of solitude and invulnerability, he too simply walks in their lord’s shadow and uses it to measure his own.

“Then test yourself away from war.” Mitsunari’s voice is grave, but Ieyasu doesn’t miss the small carefully hidden cough he makes around the potent wine that must still be stinging his throat. He smiles a little more genuinely.

“You jeopardize Hideyoshi-sama’s honor, purposely weakening yourself under his command. He has chosen you to be his general, and if you die in some foolish measuring of your own ability then you shame him and his trust in you.” He grabs the hilt of his odachi but doesn’t draw it, swings it fully sheathed to point against Ieyasu’s breastplate with a metallic tap. “If you ever disgrace his name in such a way,” he lowers his voice, tightens his grip on the hilt of his blade, presses it harder into Ieyasu’s chest, “I will _never_ forgive you.”

Ieyasu has no doubt, for even one second, that Mitsunari would chase him through the afterlife itself to wreak his vengeance. Thankfully he has no intention of dying just yet.

He is honestly more than a little touched by this extremely roundabout show of concern, finds himself grinning happily down at the weapon making pinpoint pressure against his heart through his armor and his ribcage. “I’m glad to have you worrying for me, Mitsunari.”

Ieyasu doesn’t remotely mean this in jest but Mitsunari has interpreted his honest smile as a frivolous one, has thrown his sword to the ground in frustration with a heavy clatter and strode forward to grip the collar of Ieyasu’s jacket tightly enough that it might rip. Like he would rather tear Ieyasu to shreds with his own teeth than with a blade.

“ _Do you think I’m joking_ ,” he snarls, and now he’s close enough that even without any real light Ieyasu can tell the color has risen into his face. Ire is definitely a factor in that, but while the rest of Ieyasu’s drink has spilled into the dirt with the jostle of Mitsunari’s fists against his clavicles, Mitsunari’s has clearly gone straight through him. His grip, his voice and his gaze are all perfectly steady, but he wouldn’t normally be so impassioned about such an ultimately insignificant thing as Ieyasu’s life, would he?

Ieyasu locks eyes with Mitsunari, and feels his thoughts stumble again over how bright and intent they seem. “I’m not going to die,” he declares. His fists and arms are cut, bruised, and sore, but he’s learned how to use them. They can protect him from deadly wounds. In time, maybe they’ll be able to protect more important things. “I promise.”

Mitsunari shoves Ieyasu out of his hands, a step or two backwards. He can’t feel him breathing anymore, but the warmth of his face seems to still linger on Ieyasu’s senses.

“Promises are meaningless,” Mitsunari says, still visibly bristling with some kind of agitated energy. His blood is up, for one cause or another, but the atmosphere doesn’t feel quite anger-like, rather there’s a strange hot kind of tension all of a sudden? It makes Ieyasu’s nerves prickle, not unpleasantly. Feels like that moment of standoff right before a good one-on-one test of strength. Maybe _that’s_ what Mitsunari is driving at.

“Well, I can’t really prove myself with action right now, unless you’re interested in some late-night sparring,” Ieyasu says, rolls his shoulders suggestively, loosens up. It’s noticing Mitsunari watch his mouth form those words that puts that final puzzle piece neatly in its place, and, _ah_ , well, it’s not like he’s very far off the mark anyways.

Now aware of the intent hanging in the air, Ieyasu feels an awkward need to comment on it. “... Or maybe, uh, a different sort of... grappling,” he supplants, far too late to sound remotely natural. Aaugh. He can feel himself blushing.

Mitsunari closes the distance between them again, in a decidedly less hostile manner than before, though the long fingers twisting into the fabric against Ieyasu’s neck are still a bit cutting. His eyes are lowered between Ieyasu’s mouth and his collarbone. He looks uncharacteristically demure. It’s a little startling, but not exactly unpleasant.

“Just shut up,” Ieyasu can feel him exhale around his words. They brush against his mouth and chin. Mitsunari makes eye contact again, direct, pointed. Waiting for some indication of whether or not to continue.

More sheepishly than intended or than is indicative at all of how he feels about such a development, Ieyasu nods his assent.

Mitsunari has never been one to do things gently, maybe just doesn’t have an aptitude for it. He falls on Ieyasu’s mouth, walking him backwards till he hits a tree, pressing small bites to his lips, making deep lingering swipes with his tongue that send swells of hot pressure down through Ieyasu’s chest and beneath his waist. The taste of the shochu from a moment earlier is still there, sweet and terribly heady, almost cloying.

It’s all just on the edge of being too much, the kind of fast and overwhelming that doesn’t give Ieyasu time to think, only to feel and react and kiss back. This too is awfully like everything else Mitsunari does, he realises: quick and rough and impatient. It sends a few puffs of laughter through his nose.

Mitsunari backs away just slightly, grumbles “stop _giggling_ ” against Ieyasu’s mouth, and grabs the sides of his hood to pull it up and around his face before leaning in again. With this Ieyasu’s world narrows to a single window, hot breath and eyelashes on his cheek framed by sharp knuckles resting against his jawbone.

This is hardly the first time for them to have after-dark dalliances away from camp. Warfare taxes on the body and on the mind no matter how at home Mitsunari may look surrounded by violence and death, and there are fewer better ways to dispel pent up physical exhaustion and stress than to have a short tumble. Ieyasu can’t really remember how or when they started doing this, but it’s natural and easy, and that Mitsunari would deem him suitable for something so messy and intimate makes his heart swell a bit.

Ieyasu could probably finish just stood up as he is, he thinks hazily, aware beneath the hard wet press in, on, around his mouth, of Mitsunari’s knee flush along the inside of his leg. Less distantly, aware of his dick bumping through his clothes at the armor plating hung about his hips. He’s gotten pretty pent up too, it seems.

Mitsunari never does things halfway whenever they can be done thoroughly however, meaning they’re bound to end up horizontal soon enough. Using his bedding would be nice, but getting it dirty and leaving him to deal with it would be every sort of unkind, even if it’s doubtful to begin with that it will otherwise be used at all tonight. Still, it could at least act as a pillow.

Prompting a surprised grunt against his lips, Ieyasu pushes off from the tree at his back (it was starting to get a little uncomfortable), moving Mitsunari forward with him.

“Sorry,” he says, a bit breathlessly, mouth tingling with the memory of contact. “I just thought we might move,” he flicks his eyes over to the roll of bedding, “maybe over—“

Mitsunari has grabbed his shoulder, is using it to turn them both around and begin pushing Ieyasu bodily to the spot he indicated. He does seem to prefer having the initiative, haha. That’s just fine though, Ieyasu isn’t picky.

Somewhere between that tree and the bed roll they start kissing again, and Mitsunari is using his teeth much more than before, wandering further with them to graze Ieyasu’s jaw line and throat as they stumble to the ground together. Ieyasu’s back is flat against the earth now and Mitsunari holds his wrists pinned level with his shoulders, is arched over him on all fours, chest heaving, like a wolf atop its prey after a long and exhaustive hunt. About to finally enjoy the spoils.

Looking up at him like this, it’s easy to imagine that he’s just as achingly hard as Ieyasu, but as long as they’re both fully clothed it’s an exhilarating secret.

Mitsunari drops his hips, lands on Ieyasu’s lap and the sudden solid pressure makes him almost _yell_ but the sound never quite leaves his throat and comes out as more of a broken keening gasp. His thighs are trembling, he needs to move, there’s an itchy impatient heat in the bottom of his stomach sending little sparks all the way down to his ankles. It might be horribly embarrassing how close he already is, if he couldn’t feel Mitsunari’s knees making twitchy squeezes into his sides with every slow rocking motion, or hear how heavily his breaths are coming.

In a fit of mischief, Ieyasu tenses his legs and lifts his own hips off the ground to match all of the weight on his groin in one quick thrust. Mitsunari’s shoulders jerk forwards, his grasp on Ieyasu’s wrists flutters and he swallows a sharp groan.

This is somehow more obscene than if the two of them were completely naked. They’re panting like animals in heat, rutting just as much against their own armor as against each others' bodies. Ieyasu can’t even feel the outline of Mitsunari’s cock through all the metal and fabric between them, but here he is already moments from climax just thinking about it, letting himself feel the movements he knows it’s behind.

Ieyasu could happily let himself go with this alone but before he decides to just give into it, Mitsunari has made one last punctuated slide and lifted himself off Ieyasu to stand on his knees. Appears to be collecting himself.

Ah, now that he has an opportunity to think about it, Ieyasu didn’t bring anything with him except the empty dishes laying forgotten somewhere in the area. The ointment he uses to treat his hands would have been useful, but that’s all the way down the hill with the rest of his belongings. It might be worth it in the future to start carrying it with him at night.

Mitsunari has shuffled backwards off of Ieyasu’s legs entirely and is fussing with the bindings of the plate armor pinning his hakama down to his thighs, has one of them removed before he notices he’s being watched.

“This isn’t for your entertainment,” he mutters, and Ieyasu can almost swear his face flushes darker. For all his bluntness, Mitsunari definitely has a timid streak. He pauses halfway through the second set of bindings and glances at Ieyasu again, this time reproachful. “Unless—“

... Unless.........?

 _Oh_ —

“Ah, no, I haven’t changed my mind!” Ieyasu springs into a sitting position and quickly starts to undo his belt. “It’s just, I realized I don’t have any salve or anything like that with me. I don’t suppose you do?”

Mitsunari scoffs, moving on to his sword harness. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Haha, right. So, what are we going to do?”

There’s a pause, then Mitsunari mumbles the word “thighs”.

It takes a moment for Ieyasu to fully understand.

“Right, _thighs_!” He had completely forgotten the option existed. Humans certainly are resourceful. “So, yours or mine?”

Mitsunari gives him a withering glare.

“Mine then, got it.” He chuckles and continues undressing.

In deference to Mitsunari’s shyness Ieyasu doesn’t watch him finish stripping his lower half, instead lays back down and gives his own length a few idle pumps to keep it from flagging entirely in the outdoor chill. Doesn’t get too carried away, though. He’s not very confident in his stamina tonight.

Mitsunari’s face appears over his knees momentarily, and he feels his pulse jump in his throat from anticipation. Aah, this is dangerous already, he’s not going to last at all; it really has been too long.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Ieyasu encourages, trying not to stutter over the way Mitsunari looks from this angle.

Sounding rather shaky himself on the exhale, Mitsunari takes a long breath and sidles closer, putting one of his hands on Ieyasu’s knee. The implication of this gesture sends a thrill rocketing up through Ieyasu’s leg and straight into his dick.

“Keep them together like this,” Mitsunari rasps, tightens his grip, and uses his other hand to guide himself into the tight junction of Ieyasu’s thighs.

From that first hot, smooth, amazing slide against his balls and up the sensitive underside of his cock, Ieyasu knows he is in enormous trouble. He’s already started leaking precome on to his own stomach, and after a few more careful shuddering thrusts, Mitsunari is slick with it too, raking moisture back down the length of Ieyasu’s member and wetting the point of entry between his legs. It makes every bit of connecting skin feel raw, throbbing, makes Ieyasu throw the back of his hand over his mouth to stifle the admittedly embarrassing noises coming out with his breathing lest they echo down into the campsite.

Mitsunari leans full tilt against Ieyasu, one hand bracing in the dirt next to his hipbone, the other hooking around beneath his knees to hug them together, closer, tighter. With a frantic _slap_ that brings his bony hips grinding into the back of Ieyasu’s thighs, brings him tipping the underside of Ieyasu’s glans and eliciting a choked gasp at the harsh pleasure it causes, he quickens his pace and starts driving in with a ferocity that’s almost painful for the intensity of the friction it creates.

Finding it increasingly difficult to hold back from the peak his body has been straining towards, Ieyasu tries to remove himself from his current, incredible, wonderful physical reality. His thoughts don’t manage to wander very far at all, though. He wonders what it would be like to feel this from a different position, to have sharp thin fingers digging into his hips and hot breath skimming the back of his neck in quick violent bursts, to be jostled forward with each push. Imagining these things doesn’t help calm the roiling tense arousal in his gut at all.

Besides, seeing Mitsunari’s face so full of honesty and expression like this, mouth open carelessly, eyes shut to concentrate on just _feeling_ , this is so much better. Makes Ieyasu’s heart race just a little faster, probably not just because of its simple eroticism.

With every desperate shove between his sticky, quivering thighs, every barely-audible groan of exertion and lust that he isn’t supposed to hear, it’s more and more impossible for Ieyasu to stem the sweet eager warmth flooding through his senses. Before it all completely overwhelms him, he decides to give back a little bit more, takes a moment to steel himself for the inevitable sensation of it, keeps still to enjoy a few more rough drags of the hot prick piercing his thighs. Then hardens the muscles in his upper legs the best he can, and _squeezes_.

A short, thin, utterly naked moan gets away from Mitsunari as his hips stutter into this intense new pressure, his cock spasms against Ieyasu’s, and for a second he thinks he might not be the first one to come after all. Then Mitsunari grabs low on the backs of Ieyasu’s legs and pushes them up, folds him nearly in half and pulls back almost all the way before plunging down with every bit of gravity on his side and that’s all it takes, feeling Mitsunari slide deep past the head of his dick to hit his stomach. Ieyasu’s shoulders curl up off the ground and his forehead almost hits his knees, his voice a strangled yelp, as the tension in his abdomen explodes to envelop every nerve of his body.

The aftershocks are nearly more intense, hiccuping little jolts of pleasure that come almost painfully with every continued thrust against Ieyasu’s spent and over-sensitive prick, still half erect. It’s all he can do to keep his knees together, on top of just laying back and riding it all out. Before he’s caught his breath, Mitsunari makes a rush of frenzied out-of-rhythm surges, then there’s the recurring shock of hot ejaculate hitting his stomach with a trembling quiet.

Ieyasu’s body is warm and languid, and he feels content. He barely notices Mitsunari let go of his thighs and back away, it’s such a deep and satisfying sense of relaxation. For a few lovely moments he lets the wind cool the sweat dotting his skin, thinking of nothing at all.

Then there’s a light kick at the side of his breastplate.

“Hey. Don’t sleep.”

“Mnh,” Ieyasu replies.

His lethargy earns another kick, this one not so light. With a groan, he opens his eyes and heaves himself off the ground.

Mitsunari is cleaned off and fully dressed again. He tosses half a torn rag down into Ieyasu’s lap, averting his eyes, more likely out of embarrassment than politeness. The charm of that lights up Ieyasu’s face as he takes care of the mess on his thighs, his middle, wahh, even his armor a little bit.

He easily finds the clothes and armor he discarded earlier and puts them back on, gets to his feet and takes a long, indulgent stretch. There’s nothing for either of them to say now that they’ve both been gratified after the strange and awkward little dance it took to get here, but it’s a comfortable silence, mutually understood. Ieyasu certainly wouldn’t want to be thanked for something like this, as if it were some kind of obligation or cheap favor.

Before he turns to leave, he takes another glance at Mitsunari. He’s gone back to standing at the edge of the hill to overlook the campsite, now completely dark.

“Goodnight,” he calls. Thinks for a moment, then adds, “Try to get _some_ rest.”

Mitsunari doesn’t look over his shoulder. “Mind your own business.”

“Alright, alright,” Ieyasu laughs, and starts walking back the way he came.

 

 


End file.
